


But It Never Gets Dull

by waltzforanight



Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Episode Tag, Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-16
Updated: 2009-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzforanight/pseuds/waltzforanight





	But It Never Gets Dull

Lew has decided that forced vacation sucks.

He's standing in his bathroom, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The doctors are forcing him and Spike to take two weeks off of work so that their burns can heal. It's been four days and Lew is already bored out of his mind. He's watched too much TV, read too many books, spent too many hours staring at the wall. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if Spike had been around, but his mom was doing her my-baby-just-got-hurt overbearing Italian thing and had barely let Spike out of her sight in days. (Lew is convinced that the main reason Spike still lives at home is because his mom would make him stay there every time he got hurt anyway, and seeing as Spike's job description involves the words "bomb" and "expert", well... it happens a lot. It's probably more convenient for them both if he's there all the time.)

So there's that. But Lew's biggest problem? He hasn't been able to shave in days, and it's really starting to bother him. Partly because he looks ridiculous with facial hair and knows it, but mostly it's just uncomfortable and hot.

There's a cheerful knock at the door that startles Lew out of his thoughts, something vaguely to the tune of "I'm A Little Teapot", which definitely means it's Spike. "It's open," Lew yells. It would be more polite to answer the door himself, he knows, but doorknobs and heavily bandaged hands are a frustrating combination so he doesn't bother.

"Hey, pal," Spike says as he comes in. Lew hears the door click shut, followed by the thunking sounds of Spike kicking off his shoes. There's another thunk a minute later, then the sound of keys clanging as Spike throws them down on the counter.

Lew wonders, not for the first time, how Spike manages to pass his stealth training every year.

"I picked up some pizza, hope that's alright," Spike says, his voice getting louder as he crosses the apartment. "Finger food, y'know, probably easiest with your hand- Woah!" Spike cuts off mid-sentence as he turns the corner to the bathroom and catches sight of Lew's new look. Lew turns in time to see Spike's eyes widen in shock before he starts to laugh. He recovers quickly, though, and adds seriously, "Man, I didn't know we were going to be role playing tonight. Should I go back home, get my Little Red Riding Hood outfit?"

Lew rolls his eyes. "Very funny."

"Sorry," Spike says, still grinning as he leans against the door frame. "But seriously man, you decide to join ZZ Top and not tell me?"

"I can't shave, not with my hands all..." Lew explains, waving his bandaged hands around in frustration. "It's a pain in the ass."

Spike gives him a sympathetic smile, then reaches out one hand to rub gently at Lew's cheek. It feels good, Lew thinks, really good. Until Spike's fingers get caught in the mess of hair and he pulls hard at Lew's face as he tries to untangle himself. Spike winces. "I see what you mean," he says as he finally gets his hand free.

"Yeah," Lew agrees ruefully. His stomach gives a loud rumble, and he remembers Spike talking about food a few minutes ago. "So you brought-"

All of a sudden Spike's face lights up. "I got an idea," he interrupts excitedly. "Oh, yeah, this is great. Wait here," he adds, pointing both his index fingers at Lew as he pushes out of his lean and walks off to do... whatever it is he's come up with.

Lew does as he's told and stays in the bathroom. He knows better than to ask (because he's been in this situation before, more or less, and he knows Spike's reply will be "it's a surprise!"), but he listens intently to see if he can guess what's going on anyway. The occasional scrape, thump and "oof" don't tell him anything, though, except that his apartment probably looks like a hurricane ran through it. Hurricane Spike.

Finally, Spike reappears at the doorway with the bright blue ottoman from Lew's living room. He pushes it through the doorway, forcing Lew to back up out of the way, stopping right in front of the sink. Spike drums his hands on top of it before straightening up with a "Ta da!"

Lew is confused, and not ashamed to admit it. "Spike, man, what?"

"You said you can't shave, right?" Lew nods, and Spike continues talking as he starts going through Lew's shelves. "Right. And, if you'll forgive me for saying so, I think we both agree that the Hans Langseth look is not one of your best. Which is why that's a problem. Then I thought hey, I can just do the shaving _for_ you. But I didn't think having you sit on the edge of the bathtub was very safe, so..." Spike gestures at the ottoman without turning around. "Now sit, sit! Let me work my magic."

"You couldn't have just got a chair from the kitchen?" Lew asks, but he sits down anyway, facing the sink so that he can watch Spike through the mirror.

Spike is practically beaming as he turns away from the shelf, a clean fluffy towel in his hands. "I thought of that, actually, but decided against it for two reasons. One, this thing is way more comfortable than anything else you have to sit on. Two, the chairs in your kitchen are really heavy and they are out to get my toes."

"Oh, well, when you put it that way," Lew replies, but he can't help but smile. He watches as Spike gathers everything he needs, a look of serious concentration on his face as he makes sure it's all there, that he won't need to leave mid-task. Every now and then he glances at Lew, either through the mirror or by looking over his shoulder, and smiles. Lew isn't sure whether it's because they haven't seen each other in days or if Spike's just looking for a good opening to a Grizzly Adams joke.

Probably both, he decides.

"Okay, all set," Spike announces a minute later. He's standing in front of Lew with a can of shaving cream in one hand, cap off, and he's grinning like a lunatic. If Lew didn't know better, he might think Spike was about to go all Sweeney Todd on him. Then again, they'd seen that movie together, and Spike had liked it a lot, so maybe it's fifty-fifty between that and him writing SPIKE WAS HERE in giant shaving cream letters on the wall.

"Wait, I gotta try one thing before I start." Spike bends down so that he's face to face with Lew, then grabs him by the back of the neck, pulling him into a fierce kiss. Lew groans, because damn he's been missing this the past few days, and kissing Spike is one of his favourite things regardless. He's really starting to get lost in it when Spike gives the back of his neck a quick rub and pulls away. Spike's mouth drags along the side of Lew's face until he reaches Lew's ear and murmurs, "Wow, it's kinda like kissing Bigfoot."

Lew can't help the snort of laughter that escapes, but uses his forearm to smack Spike in the thigh on principle. Not that it does any good, because Spike is all but cackling as he straightens up. "You're such an asshole," Lew grumbles half-heartedly.

Spike just smiles as he throws a towel around Lew's shoulders. "Yeah, but I'm _your_ asshole," he points out. There's a pause, and a frown, then: "That didn't come out right."

"Not really," Lew agrees. "But yeah, you are."

They spend a few moments staring at each other, veering dangerously close to Sappy Hallmark Moment territory, before Spike gives himself a shake and says, "Okay, Lew, you know I love you, but I can't take you seriously while you look like Abraham Lincoln. Time to lose the beard."

Which sounds like a good plan to Lew. He sits as still as he can while Spike takes his time lathering up Lew's chin and upper lip, enjoying the feel of Spike's fingers working over his skin. Relaxation washes over him and his eyes drift closed. He could get used to this, he really could.

Too soon, Spike's hands leave Lew's face. The tap turns on, and Lew can hear the water splash as Spike rinses off his hands, humming absently to himself as he works. Before he's expecting it, Spike is dragging the razor across Lew's face the first time. Lew's eyes fly open and he inhales sharply at the unexpected sensation.

"You okay?" Spike asks, and Lew can see that he's really worried. "Did I hurt you?"

"Yeah. No," Lew says roughly. "I'm fine." Yeah, fine. And hard as a _rock_. What the hell? Who knew that _this_ was erotic? Not Lew, that's for damn sure.

Spike doesn't look convinced. "You sure?"

Lew nods and some of the shaving cream sticks to the towel. "Positive. Keep going," he says. He makes sure Spike is looking him in the eye before he adds, "_Please._"

Spike's eyes widen, like he's just figured out what Lew means but isn't sure he believes it. A glance down at Lew's groin is all the confirmation he seems to need, though, because then Spike is back to grinning. "Oh, yeah." He steps back into Lew's personal space, one hand settling back on Lew's head so that he can move it to whatever angle he needs.

"Close your eyes," Spike says quietly. And it's such a rarity - Spike, being _quiet_, on _purpose_ \- that Lew does exactly that. Spike makes a noise of contentment and continues scraping the razor across Lew's face, pausing every now and then to rinse it off under the still running tap. Lew loses all track of time, can't seem to concentrate on anything other than his raging hard-on, the feel of the blades scraping his face, the scent surrounding him that is pure and simple _Spike_.

Minutes or hours later, when Spike says, "alright, buddy, you're set" and helps Lew dry off his face with the towel, what Lew really wants to do is throw Spike against the wall and do a variety of naughty things to him that will get both of them off quick and dirty. But his hands are definitely not up for that and he knows that, for all his hyperactivity, Spike's back is probably even worse.

That's okay, though, because Lew can improvise. He stands up, his knees wobbling just a bit and says simply, "Bedroom. Now."

It takes them all of thirty seconds to get there (including the ten they stop to kiss frantically in the hallway and the five Lew spends surveying the damage Hurricane Spike did to his living room). They have no choice but to get a little creative with positioning, and Spike has to do most of the work in getting them naked, but Lew has a big bed and the challenge of it all is fun in it's own way. And Lew doesn't compromise on his want for quick and dirty, just sucks Spike down as soon as he's still enough. Spike groans loudly while Lew keeps it messy and wet, and Spike comes two minutes later with a cry of "fuck, _Lew_."

Spike pounces on Lew the second he scoots himself up the bed, pins Lew down by the shoulders while they kiss until neither of them can breathe. Lew is close, so close, and he's rolling his hips desperately, trying to get some friction against Spike's body. But Spike has other ideas, if that devious smirk is any indication. He lets go of Lew with one hand and holds it in front of Lew's mouth. "Lick," he demands.

Lew moans, but does as Spike says, licking a line straight from Spike's wrist to the tip of his middle finger. Spike's eyes glaze over and Lew feels triumphant for about two seconds. Then Spike retraces Lew's path with his own tongue and all Lew can do is think, damn, that's _hot_.

There's no thinking after that, what with Spike's hand making itself at home on Lew's dick. Lew is still pinned to the bed so he can't actually see what Spike is doing, just knows that it feels amazing. Spike is keeping him just on the edge until Lew lets out a frustrated growl. "_Spike_."

Spike's hand stills for what Lew thinks is an enternity, then his voice is hot and low in Lew's ear. "Come. Now," he says, giving Lew's dick one long, rough stroke. That's all it takes, though; Lew arches up and is coming so hard his vision is starting to white out. He flops back onto the bed, completely blissed out. Lew is dimly aware of Spike rearranging himself into a more comfortable position, one that leaves him sprawled across Lew's chest with his chin resting on his hands, but mostly it's going to be a long time before Lew can do anything other than lay there and grin.

Later, Spike gets up to grab the pizza he brought over, which they end up eating in bed just because they can. And if Spike spends the rest of the night laying on his stomach, naming people with beards ("Chuck Norris." "Mr T." "Hagrid from Harry Potter." "David Suzuki." "Oh, Santa Claus! How did I not think of that one first? I love that guy."), that's okay. Lew thinks it's kind of funny now that he's not one of them.


End file.
